FOCUS

How To Deal With One's Faith When Battling AIDS

S

usan found out her 25-
year-old son, Ben, was
HIV positive during a
convention they both at-
tended a year-and-a-half ago.
"I remember getting hys-
terical and not being able to
catch my breath," Susan, a
Southfield housewife said
one morning over breakfast.
"It was like someone put a
loaded gun to my head."
Ben and his partner,
Steve, drove from Los
Angeles to Chicago to be
with Susan for the annual
meeting of Parents and
Friends of Gays and Les-
bians.
"All during the six-hour
drive back to Detroit, I
cried," Susan said. "I don't
know how Steve managed to
drive with me wailing like
that in the back seat."
Susan said her son called
her room on the convention's
last morning and said he
wanted to speak to her in
private.
"There was something
very ominous about that
conversation," Susan
recalls. "I always know
when something is up when
my son says he wants to talk
to me without my husband."
Ben planned his an-
nouncement very
methodically, his mother
said. He had a doctor, a spe-
cialist in every aspect of Ac-
quired Immune Deficiency
Syndrome, waiting next door
to talk to Susan and answer
any questions she might
have.
"It wasn't like I wasn't
aware of the facts about
AIDS," Susan said. "It was
just that I constantly told
myself that my son wouldn't
get it.
"I mean, he was always so
health conscious, so
careful," she said. "He
wouldn't do anything to
damage his health. This was
supposed to happen to other
people, not to people like
me."
Susan said her son would
never have gone for testing
if he hadn't planned to stay
with his brother's family
that summer.
"He wanted to tell them
that he was gay," Susan
said. "My husband and I

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38

FRIDAY, APRIL 5, 1991

didn't even know yet. He
only took the test so he could
tell them not to worry and
assure them he was fine."
Ben never did tell his
brother. Instead, he left
behind gay literature and
AIDS information. His
brother ultimately con-
fronted him about it.
Susan said she often
thinks about Steve's mother
and what she must be going
through.

Ben and Steve exchanged
marriage vows last year in a
ceremony officiated by a
rabbi in California.
"They met in synagogue,"
Susan said. "Now, when
anyone asks, I tell them all
three of my sons are mar-
ried."
Susan's voice quivers a bit
when she repeats the story of
how her son broke the news
of his test results to Steve.
"Ben told me that after
he'd received his results, he
told Steve he'd understand if

AMYJ.MEHLER

Staff Writer

he'd want to break off their
relationship.
"Steve didn't say much at
first. He walked out the por-
ch door and stood outside for
a few minutes. Then he
turned around and walked
back in. They got married
soon after that."
Robert Lebow and Grant
Collins of Huntington
Woods, are another example
of a couple still together
despite the AIDS virus.
They recently celebrated
"Ten Tremendous Years
Together."
That was the phrase they
had engraved on the invita-
tions they sent to family and
friends last November.
In lieu of gifts, the couple
requested their guests make
contributions to the Evelyn
Fisher AIDS Research Fund
at the Henry Ford Hospital
in Detroit. Their guests rais-
ed about $1,300.
Robert, an interior
designer, has lived with
AIDS for three years. He
cares for his partner, Grant,
who has the full-blown virus.
Both men proudly wear
delicately crafted gold wed-

ding bands fashioned by the
jewelry designer, Claire V.
Bersani. Theirs is a mixed
marriage. Grant is not Jew-
ish.
A graduate of the Yale
School of Drama and a direc-
tor and trustee of Detroit's
Music Hall, Grant has lived
for three years with a
disease that usually claims

Robert Lebow:
"AIDS has to have a face.
Nobody does this disease a
favor by going off the record."

the lives of its victims a lot
sooner.
He credits two people for
this phenomenon: Robert
Lebow and Evelyn Fisher.
"Evelyn takes care of my
body; Robert takes care of
my soul," he said.
However, much of Grant's
waking hours are spent self-
administering life-saving
drugs. It takes him six-hours
each day. Most people stop at
brushing their teeth and
scrubbing their faces.
But Grant, 38, has to hook
a tube surgically implanted
in his chest to a portable
machine. The process, which
involves several unpronoun-
cable drugs and salt solu-
tions, washes his kidneys,
protects his eyesight and
cleanses his blood from a
rare blood fungus once found
in people exposed to bird
feces in the Ohio River
Valley.
Since he was diagnosed in
1987, Grant has lost 50
pounds and is prone to infec-
tions and rare diseases.
He has been hospitalized
more times than he cares to
remember. Once, he was at
the Henry Ford Hospital for
27 days.
Because of his condition,
Grant has been on sick leave
from his job at the Music
Hall since 1988. He said his
boss, Victoria Hardy, has
been extremely understan-
ding and accommodating.
"She's a real mentsh," he
said.
Grant often incorporates
Yiddish expressions into his
daily speech.
He said that while work-
ing at the Music Hall, he
would often tell stage crews
to "make sure they clean up
all the chazerei (mess) lying
around."
Robert, who sits across
from Grant, indulges in a
barely perceptible grin
before acknowledging the
many Yiddish words and
mannerisms Grant has pick-
ed up.
Grant, whose family lives
in Grosse Pointe and dates
back to branches of English
nobility, derives a lot of en-
joyment and satisfaction
from his new adopted lang-
uage.